


How to Return a Scarf in 5 Easy Steps

by jofngve



Category: Aşk 101 | Love 101 (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, just a tad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jofngve/pseuds/jofngve
Summary: He still has her scarf.Sinan wasn’t exactly sure what the protocol was considering the adequate time-frame for returning a scarf a pretty girl had wrapped around your neck because she was afraid you'd get cold - but it can't be that difficult, can it?
Relationships: Sinan/Işık
Comments: 17
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

He still has her scarf.

“Are you going to walk home?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Their walk had been civil enough until that point.

Osman, that glutton, had suggesting getting some soup, but both he and Işık had declined. It was late, and if Sinan wanted to catch the ferry he would have to hurry-up a bit. And besides, he was pretty sure he had hit his quota of friendly-classmate-chatter for the week.

But then Işık starts needling him about whether or not he’s missing his parents, and why he is not willing to admit that he misses his parents (fat chance of that ever happening), and when he tries to defend himself she gets all huffy.

But, well, what does she want him to say? It’s the simple truth. Most people are selfish and stupid and ignorant. Andthen of course she goes and assumes that he is referring to her, which he does not mean per se. With the way she takes notes in class and studies her ass off, he’d be hesitant to call her an idiot. But even if he did! Why would she care?

Ok. Maybe Sinan should not have gone ahead and called her naive directly to her face (that might have been a bit of a too-direct-insult to ignore) but God- why did she always have to be so pushy, all the goddamn time. Constantly blabbing at him during class despite the fact that he definitely does not give any impression of wanting to listen to whatever asinine entertainment she and her mom enjoyed the night before.

Sure him ignoring her friendly chatter in class seems to have happened a lifetime ago. Especially considering all the chaos that had occurred in the interim. Maybe it was eye-opening to see Işık in a different setting- seeing where she had gotten her personality from, raised among tacky porcelain figures and an overbearing mother.

And now they weren’t only desk-mates anymore, but maybe acquaintances. But that would not be reason for her to bombard him with questions, play amateur psychologist and then get upset when he does not play along.

So yes, his answer comes quick and a bit harsh perhaps. Of course he is walking home, there is no one who would pick him up or send a car or bother at all with how he finds his way back. Dumb question.

She doesn’t seem to pick up on his brusque tone, fiddles with her bag, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s cold, here take my scarf.”

Sinan is pretty sure he’d never been this stunned in his life.

That is not what he expected Işık to say.

At all.

Apparently he is too slow to react to this weird (and, frankly, completely unnecessary) offer because Işık just tuts and takes things into her own hands. He gets the impression this is a character-trait of her’s.

“Oh Sinan, come on.”

-and with small, deft hands starts wrapping the soft fabric around his neck, tucks one end under the other and takes a step back to admire her work. She tries a smile but it remains just a tight press of the lips.

“Good night. See you.”

He’s too dumbstruck to say anything in return.

That rarely happens.


	2. Chapter 2

That had been on Friday.

Sinan wasn’t exactly sure what the protocol was considering the adequate time-frame for returning a girl’s … garments? Fucking hell. It had been cold that evening, and the scarf hadn’t been uncomfortable. He’d actually more or less forgotten about it by the time he had reached home, up until he went to get ready for bed and found it still lightly wrapped around his neck.

Işık hadn’t said anything about wanting it back when he finally joined the rest of the group out in front of the school building on Monday. But then again, there had been more pressing concerns related to their teacher’s sexual adventures - or lack thereof. The occurrence of which seems to become less and less likely judging from the frigid air that figuratively wafts over from where the two teachers walk onto school grounds.  
Kerem and Eda appear to have some sort of deeper interpretation on the matter, bickering about one thing or another. But then fucking Necdet shows up, gleefully threatening them all with their imminent suspension until he spots Işık. He falters, spouting something about what she’s doing wasting her time with them, sends her off to find her way back to her other, nicer, sweeter friends. The blonde opens her mouth, shy but ready to talk back but Sinan does not want to hear it.

There is some truth to what Necdet is saying and Sinan does not want to have to listen to Işık’s feeble defences of their rag-tag group. Because he knows she is wasting her time with them; she doesn’t have to help them but is doing it anyway. Who the hell knows why? Ok, yes, Kerem had man-handled her a bit, and Eda and Osman had played the benevolent, altruism card. But he is sure Işık could have avoided the fiasco if she had wanted to, tattled to Burcu, or stayed home, or at least not put as much energy into their whole rock-concert-date-plan (which she didn’t seem to approve of in the first place).  
So yes, Sinan knows that Necdet is right but he also knows exactly the right words to say to maim their principle’s ego and let him fly into a sufficient rage. Go big or go home.  
Eda is giddy with malicious glee, immediately by his side, slapping his shoulder in congratulations and doing him a favour by effectively blocking Işık probably doe-eyed look of anxious worry and pitying concern. Confrontation avoided.

Maybe Necdet is right and he is a sociopath if he is wasting so much time thinking about it.  
And it’s not like caring ever got him anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

Aaaaand then Işık goes that one step too far and hands in her test-paper for him. And he flies completely off the rails. Sinan had been unaware that he could feel this absolutely fucking livid. His whole head feels like it is on fire, blood rushing in his ears, and his stomach rolls.

Who the fuck does she think she is?

It is one thing for her to feel the need to play saviour for almost everyone in this fucking school, but to actually fucking pity him of all people is going too far.  
And he lets her know. The look of confusion and shock on Işık’s face is the thing that makes the wave of anger come crashing down - oh is she surprised that he isn’t fucking grateful? Like everyone else always is? And helping the school’s worst degenerates is just another fucking project she can clap herself on the back for. It really is emotional masturbation. Oh, sweet Işık, here to save the day, always the perfect angel: even with the appropriate head of golden hair. God he's so angry he’s practically shaking, doesn’t even know what scrap of paper he throws in her face.  
He doesn’t expect the others to actually stand-up for her. Doesn’t expect Eda to get in his face about how Işık was only being nice; doesn’t expect the shove Kerem gives him before Osman holds him back. But they are just idiots, morons, blinded by this just like everyone else, too grateful for scraps of pity masquerading as fake kindness.

Sinan doesn’t quite register what everyone else starts yelling at each other after that. Işık pushes past him, eyes red and teary, and Eda yells at him to go die like he wants to.

A messy solution to the conundrum but a solution nonetheless.


	4. Chapter 4

So yeah. He still has Işık’s scarf.

It has been a week.

A week since Monday and the fight, the irrational anger. He had gone home and found the nearest bottle at the back of the fridge, needing something, anything to quell the bubbling rage that was slowly but surely giving way to thick and heavy guilt. Emotions were not exactly Sinan’s strong suit, and the existence of the explosive anger and sticky guilt in such quick succession left him rattled.

Sinan had only seen glimpses of the others in the hallway, and in Geography class. Işık had moved from her usual seat next to him to the front of the classroom, sitting near the windows. She gives no inclination of noticing him sliding onto the bench, and when he looks over at her she is already giggling about something with her friends. He strains his ears, it’s something about a cat he thinks, _it was so cute_ , she gushes.

So the week passes more or less in a haze. And it’s Monday once again.

There are classes to sleep through, people to avoid, books to stick his nose into (which are not quite as good at holding his attention as they usually are). He seems to be hyper-aware of Işık’s blonde head whenever it enters his peripheral vision and it is honestly fucking with him. Sinan knows he should apologise, if only to get rid of the heavy guilt that not only rears it head when he glances over at the right-window-seat of the classroom, but has found a more-or-less permanent home in his stomach.

But wouldn’t that be the exact piece of proof for what he had always thought about apologies? That they only serve to ease the guilt of the one apologising, don’t do anything for the person wronged. What would the purpose be? And it’s not as if he has an excuse to talk to Işık anymore. Or wait-

Sinan would be lying if he said he hadn’t given another thought to the scarf that is still draped across the back of a chair in his room. He left it in the corner, hard to ignore over the past few days, an actual tangible reminder of a kind act.

Shit.

Should he stick it in the wash? Or would that be weird? Would she even notice it, the smell of unfamiliar detergent? The way he had immediately picked up on the soft scent assaulting his nose when she had wrapped the fabric around him? No, he has no fucking clue what Işık smells like (he is not a creep, thank you very much) but sitting next to her for the majority of the school year had given him some sort of inclination. Floral shampoo was the likely culprit, or some sort of conditioner. For that annoyingly long hair of hers.

So should he wash it? He was going to do laundry later anyway, but ugh, how to even start that conversation?

Ok, so returning the scarf is a last-resort. Perhaps there is still something between Burcu and the coach, something that didn’t follow their carefully constructed script, so unexpected that they had all missed it.

The way Kemal walks past the assistant-principle without sparing her a second glance, only to then wistfully stare at her from a distance strikes an odd chord with Sinan. It’s… familiar. Unpleasant as that is to admit.

But at least that is something he can work with.


	5. Chapter 5

The apology goes… better than he had expected.

Of course it’s all awkward as hell, and Işık had only showed up because Osman had asked her to. Because Osman is a nice guy who neither possesses the emotional knowledge of a grapefruit nor the compulsive need to be a dick to anyone helpful or kind.

“How are you, Işık?”

“I’m alright.”

But he powers through.

Somehow.

Probably because Işık is just a good soul.

In the end it’s just a quiet “I’m sorry.” But judging from the soft, half-smile Işık gifts him Sinan guesses it is good enough. And there is no reason for his stomach to grow warm and light the way it does.

Of course then the boyfriend shows up and throws everything for a fucking loop again.

New plan: prove that Burcu’s boyfriend is a dick and not good for her. Sinan offers to take care of this particular test as he considers himself a bit of an expert on the matter.

Getting sick because of all the standing in the rain was not exactly part of the plan but no matter. If Işık could just stop suggesting that he needs soup that’d be grand.

He can’t fucking believe it when she still brings some with her the next time they all get together at his place. The shabby blanket he finds on the couch does little to actually get him warm, and at this point he is constantly covered in goosebumps and a layer of cold-sweat. But then there’s a bowl in his lap and a spoon in hand, as Işık once again takes matters into her own hands.

Sinan can’t help but stare.

But then things do actually start getting worse. He’s cold all over despite the mild spring weather, his vision going fuzzy without the help of his flask. Thank God he get’s some sort of medicine prescribed after he goes through the trouble of collapsing in the hospital parking-lot: would have been a shame if all of that had been for nothing.

He’s not quite sure how he got to napping on his pile of laundry, but the knocking on the front door is grating on his nerves.

It’s Işık again.

With more soup. Medicine and vitamins as well.

And the great news that Burcu is actually engaged to that asshat.

Nothing more to be done.

Perhaps it is the fever or the medication or just plain-old sleep deprivation but Sinan does not really understand why Işık is so caught-up about the whole thing. She isn’t the one who will be suspended, it’s really not something that she would need to worry about; nothing that she needs to concern herself with. 

He tells her as much, tries to comfort her somehow, she doesn’t need to care: but it seems to have been the wrong thing to say. She furrows her brows, and her lip gives the faintest quiver. She is almost sorrowful as she says that he doesn’t have to do this.

He doesn’t know what she’s saying, what is he doing? But she seems resolved now, keeps doing that half-nodding, half-shrugging thing. Her mind made up.The warm afternoon light makes her lashes glow a very light blonde. She understands now, Işık says, she just wants to do this but doesn’t need anything from him.

Sinan doesn’t really know what she means. Is this her way of cutting everything off? She says she doesn’t want anything from him. That’s a clear enough sign. Right?

He’s fucked it up.

He definitely has deserved it. Işık has been nothing but helpful and amiable. Kind, thoughtful, considerate. Sweet. Sinan’s eye falls onto the bowl of soup, the bottles of pills Işık had pulled from her bag and arranged on the tray she had found in some corner of the kitchen, to carry everything out into the living room. God, he feels hollow, as if someone had scooped him out with a melon-baller, Her bag is discarded next to the tray on the coffee table, and he grabs it.

Should he apologise? He does, but Işık just looks disappointed and sad. No half-smile this time.

So he starts packing things up. Işık will surely want everything back, now that he has said something that has made her realise that she doesn’t want anything to do with him. Why would she still want him to get better if he can’t give her what he wants. Isn’t this how things work?

But again it seems to be exactly the wrong thing to do. She asks him what he’s doing. He does not have an answer. She says he doesn’t understand anything, doesn’t have an idea, has no clue. Couldn’t have learned it from a book.

She would have left if it hadn’t been for the others showing up.

Sinan tries not to be so incredibly grateful.


	6. Chapter 6

Sleep comes quickly that night, and when Sinan blinks open into the warm sunlight the next morning he feels strangely at peace. He can’t remember the last time he has slept so well. Deeply, without dreaming, waking well-rested and with a surprisingly clear head, considering the height of his fever yesterday.

He doesn’t know exactly what makes him get up, pull on a fresh white dress-shirt, sling a tie around his neck, and grab his schoolbag. Sinan can only just stop his father from taking the painting in the living room. Nihal can fuck off - Işık had liked it and he doesn’t want her to find it missing the next time she comes over.

If she actually still will.

Shit, he needs to talk to her. He needs to somehow clear-up what had happened yesterday. Maybe it had been the fever, Sinan is not completely sure what had made Işık so upset, what she had even been talking about exactly. He didn’t get something? No matter, that’s the reason he got up, he has to get to school and then everything will be resolved.

During the ferry-ride, Sinan arranges the words in his head. He needs to be completely clear with what he wants to say. The sea breeze is warm and salty on his skin, a gentle caress and the world seems softer than it did just yesterday. The possibility of change and opportunity lies in the wind, is almost tangible, a buzzing under his skin that is almost intoxicating.

Which most definitely makes it worse when Işık doesn’t seem to believe him. He had prepared his not-quite-speech so carefully and delivered it adequately enough in his opinion. It hadn’t been been that easy with his stomach swooping the way it was. So why had Işık almost been tearful? Hadn’t even give him the opportunity to explain or defend himself. Perhaps being known as the constantly-sarcastic resident cynic might make his sudden change of heart difficult to believe. But Işık was usually took his cynicism with a grain of salt, and why would she think he would be making fun of her now?

What had changed?

Days pass.

It’s already dark out when they all meet at his place one evening.

Kerem is the first to arrive, nudges Sinan from where he is sitting, staring out onto the Bosporus. He scoots over to let the other boy sit. Işık comes soon after, sits next to Kerem, hands in her lap. Sinan can’t take his eyes off her, but she keeps her eyes locked straight ahead, out onto the water. Kerem seems to have a similar problem when Eda arrives.

He’s only half-listening to the conversation Işık and Osman start between bites of baclava. Something about money making anything possible. True enough.

Sinan doesn’t know exactly why he throws out the love-argument. This is definitely a bit of a new development: the blurting-something-out without thoroughly thinking it through beforehand. But now Işık has her head turned to finally look at him but Sinan can’t look back, he has to finish his thought, and if he catches her eye he knows he won’t be able to.

Kerem seems to be braver than him. Fixes Eda with a stare.

And then Işık, ever the pragmatist, restarts the conversation about the whole reason for their get-togethers. What is there to be done about Miss Distas? He does not hear her opinion on his argument. About love.

Maybe that’s a sign enough to give up.


	7. Chapter 7

Eda is actually a god-send.

Not that he would ever actually think those words, let alone tell her them out loud. But it's the late evening and they’re sitting on the bench, drinking cheap beer. Eda had just knocked on his front door an hour ago, and blown right past him like she owns the place: raised the plastic grocery bag filled with cans, cool to the touch, and let him have first pick. He knows she likes the bitter stuff, so he just takes a lager.

So they’re sitting there, looking out onto the water and the faint lights blinking on the other side. It’s nicer than sitting there alone and it’s even nicer to have someone to confide in, to have someone to finally spill his feelings to. And Sinan doesn’t even feel bad about oversharing, Eda had asked. And as soon as Işık’s name crosses his lips, the weird, weighted jelly that has been constantly bouncing around in his chest cavity feels a little bit lighter.

Eda gives it to him straight. Sinan has never really had a friend who would lovingly call him a douche-bag, but Eda manages to make the word sound incredibly fond. A slap to the arm and two words of advice and he feels so incredibly better, it’s actually kind of pathetic. He doesn’t know how valuable or helpful her kissing-advice is, but it’s nice to know that he has someone in his corner.

And having that option to consider is in and of itself not bad.

It takes a little while, and a little bit of planning, but then it’s three days later and Işık’s birthday. When she and Eda come back from Miss Distas’ place, they’re both drunk with victory and a little too much red wine. But before they can start relaying their apparently successful discussion with their favourite teacher, Sinan suggests what he had ridiculously been calling “the boat-plan”. Osman knows a tiny bit about it, but just because he needed someone to organise a muffin. And a candle. But Kerem is also immediately supportive of the genius boat-plan and so they set out onto the water.

The air is warmer than expected, but the water is colder than expected.

Not that Sinan is actively noticing it, what with how warm Işık’s hands are on his cheeks, how warm Işık’s lips are on his. And how he is in general more or less on fire.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be cold again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suPEr super short one, but the next one will be longer and probably the last chapter! 
> 
> enjoy and let me know what you think! Eda's and Sinan's friendship is literally the best


	8. Chapter 8

“Take care of this girl,” Osman grins and then the door clicks shut behind him, and it’s just the two of them alone.

They all had headed back to shore relatively quickly after Işık and him had fallen (or jumped) into the water. It was definitely not summer yet, and the water was cold. Thankfully Kerem had not rowed them too far out.

Eda was torn between laughing her ass off, winking at Sinan, and fussing over Işık. It seemed that she was capable of some mother-henning, but only if she could be sarcastic while doing so. And only if the role was not filled by anyone else.

When they arrived back at shore, Sinan had rushed into the house, just grabbed two fresh towels from the closest lined closet, and had gotten the tea going.

They had all congregated to the kitchen, but now that Kerem and Eda had gotten lost somewhere (Sinan will definitely rib Eda about that later) and Osman was on his way home, only Işık and him were left.

The tea is slowly growing cold and the towels have done most of their work, drying both of them enough that the cold does not immediately assault them.

Which is where they find themselves now.

The silence is buzzing, no less than it was while their friends were still playing third-/forth-/fifth-wheel. But now it is so palpable that Sinan has the feeling he could reach out and grab it. He doesn’t think he has stopped smiling since the boat, can feel how both corners of his mouth just don’t want to come down.

Işık’s cheeks are dusted with the slightest red, but that could just be from their unexpected dip into the Bosporus. She takes a sip of tea, hides a similar smile behind the porcelain, and God Sinan wants to kiss her again. Is there a time-limit to this sort of thing?A maximum amount of times he is allowed to attempt it within an hour? Shit, he should have asked Eda.

“Do you want to head home as well?” he forces himself to ask instead. But it’s already dark out and Işık would need to take the ferry on her own, “I could bring you home?”

To his utmost surprise Işık just shakes her head, and now she’s well and truly blushing.

“No, don’t worry,” she smiles, puts her tea-cup back on its saucer, “I already thought I’d stay out longer than 8:30, and warned my parents.”

Sinan throws a glance at the kitchen clock. It is well after 10:30, almost 11:00.

He looks back at Işık, who had followed his gaze. She grins, bashful, and empties her cup, “I suppose it is a biiiit past that curfew,” she stretches the vowels, and moves to stand up. “I’ll just take the couch though, do you have a phone maybe?”

Sinan almost laughs, “Sure,” as if he would ever let Işık sleep on that lumpy old couch, “I’ll show you, it’s just down the hall.”

The phone is old, still has a rotary dial to enter the numbers with, almost dusty on the tiny, rickety side-table next to the basement-door.

Sinan gives Işık her privacy, tries to calm his still racing heart as he moves into his room. Ok, if she is going to be staying the night, he better re-make his bed.

He strips the mattress and the feather cover, bundles the sheets to throw them into the wash. There is no time to go over the mattress with the vacuum, so he just has to hope that Işık does not have a dust-allergy. Sinan grabs new sheets from the same linen-closet he grabbed the towels from, and starts pulling the clean sheets over the mattress, the pillows and-

“Oh, I almost got lost,” Işık laughs, who is suddenly standing in the doorway. Sinan is still holding the pillow and she suddenly shy, “Oh. Sorry, I did not mean to bother- Thank you for letting me use the phone, I just wanted to ask, if you could maybe give me a pillow? I know the blanket is already on the sofa, but, I mean, only if you have an extra, I can also of course use a couch-cushion-“

“Nonsense,” Sinan has to interrupt her, brushes the pillow flat so that it is free of any wrinkles, “I’m taking the couch. You take the bed, just let me finish the blanket.”

“Wh-what?” Işık stammers, already confused, “Sinan, no, your health, you need your rest! I really don’t mind, and I’m imposing anyway so-“

“Oh bullshit,” Sinan has to interrupt her again, shaking the blanket out so that the corners reach the bottom corners of the white sheet, starts buttoning it shut, “you’re never imposing Işık.”

“No really, I insist, it’s fine, I’m alright on the couch,” Işık has her hands raised now, assuaging, “I have a feeling you need the sleep more than I do, really.”

“Yeah,” he has to admit when she’s right, “but what kind of host would I be if I let you sleep on that old dusty ruin?”

Işık is already grinning, “Sinan, when did you ever waste a thought on being a good host? Is this a new development?”

He should joke back, the sarcastic comeback is already on the tip of his tongue- “It is if you’re the guest.” 

Işık blushes to the root of her blonde hair and Sinan is pretty sure he does too. God, so this is what happens when your heart has found a new home in the back of your throat.

“Listen-“ he clears his throat, “I’ll just be-“

“We can share!” she interrupts him, almost shouts, voice suddenly loud in the otherwise quiet room. There is a pause and Işık hurries to specify as she grows even redder, “I mean, your bed’s not that small and we’re both tired, and it’ll be more comfortable, wouldn’t it?”

There is something very similar to the no-signal tone the TV emits ringing in Sinan’s head.

“Um. Are you sure?”

Işık waves her hands as if she could scare away the awkward silence from two seconds before, “Of course, I mean-“ her hands freeze as she seems to realise something, “if you’re ok with it?”

Sinan shrugs, feigning indifference, or at least not wanting to reveal that one part of his brain has definitely been euphorically screaming for the last past hour or so. “Sure- if you don’t mind.”

But Işık just smiles, shakes her head, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okkk so I lied! There will be more than one last chapter coooming, I just started writing and it got a bit too much for just one last 8th chapter :) So there probably will be one/two more, hopefully can post again soon but I gotta see how my work-schedule clears up next weeeeek!   
> We are also slooowly moving into the non-canon part of the story, I hope you enjoy how I imagined the rest of the episode playing ouuut
> 
> And thank you all so much for your responses to my raaaaamblings about these two, I really appreciate aaall your kind comments and kudos, they are such great motivation and i love you aaall
> 
> as always, stay safe + healthy, hope you have a good start to the week and see you soon! ☀️💛


	9. Chapter 9

So this is how Sinan finds himself rifling through his closet until he finds a clean pair of basketball shorts and a threadbare t-shirt to give to Işık as a type of pyjama.

When Işık finishes changing and joins him in the bathroom, Sinan is already brushing his teeth. The t-shirt just reaches to above her knees, and they are almost matching in their night-clothes; both in soft shirts and shorts.

“I -ound a f-esh tooshbrush,” Sinan manages through the toothpaste-foam, and gestures towards the purple toothbrush lying on the counter, which he had unearthed in the medicine cabinet (it had been very difficult to get out of the shrink-wrap).

Işık smiles, “Thanks!” and squeezes some toothpaste out onto the bristles. Sinan spits out the minty foam, rinses his mouth, and pats his face dry.

“There’s fresh towels on the bottom shelf, if you need any,” he hears himself say, gesturing to the cabinet screwed to the wall, but it’s difficult to be sure. He is a bit distracted by how Işık hair is not tied back in a braid, or ponytail, or pushed out of her face with a headband. Nope, it’s just spilling over her shoulders, still a bit damp, a bit wavy and it would definitely be easy to curl a strand around his finger.

“Ah, fa-nksh,” Işık laughs, dripping foam, cheeks pink, and _focus Sinan, you can’t loose it just watching her brush her teeth. You creep._

The house is quiet now, and Sinan tip-toes into his room to lie down. He moves to the farthest edge of his bed, and well, now the only thing left to do is wait for Işık to come back from the bathroom.

He is not exactly sure how he has gotten to this point, but Eda’s advice had definitely been of some help. Who knew that a simple kiss was all that was necessary? Okay, well, the muffin-idea had been his and that might have helped a bit as well.

But being underwater like that…Sinan hadn’t even registered the cold when he dived in after Işık, hadn’t even been thinking. But then she had also just been floating there in the blue, completely calm, as if him jumping in after her was all the reassurance she needed. God, he really doesn’t want to call it magnetic- but it just kinda felt like exactly that. There could not be a different reasoning for how his hands had found their way to her cheeks, to cradle her face: and her doing the same. And then the kiss-

Well.

Now he’s just lying there, waiting in the dark.

God, it feels surreal. He is listening very intently to any creek of the floorboards which might betray Işık’s return, filtering out the lapping of the waves against the stone walls outside, the faint noise of the city; and it’s not even on purpose.

So this is why they call it love- _sick_. This type of obsessive behaviour cannot be healthy.

Then there’s a creak of the floorboards and the blanket is lifted as a body slides into bed next to him.

“Is this ok?” Işık asks into the darkness, voice barely a whisper.

Sinan doesn’t realise he is holding his breath.

“Yeah-“ he exhales, scooting over to make a little bit more room, but there really isn’t that much space to spare. Işık shifts and her knees knock against his.

“Ah, sorry,” she says, rearranging herself but it’s not much use.

“No, don’t worry,” he exhales.

It is dark, very dark, pitch-black, but Sinan is buzzing with unnecessary adrenaline, hyper-aware of the girl lying a hand’s width away. He can feel her breath on his face, her soft exhales that do not match the relentless pounding of his heart, so loud and fast he is sure she must hear it. If Sinan weren’t such a cynic he would compare it to a connection of souls.

But he is a cynic, so he (scientifically) calls it electricity instead, the unfamiliar proximity so foreign that his body has no other choice but to keep him constantly aware of Işık’s every movement.

“I don’t think I can sleep yet,” she whispers and Sinan almost feels the words on his skin.

“Are you not tired?” he asks back, voice just as quiet.

She shifts and their knees knock together again, “I was, but now not really.”

He breathes, “Me neither.”

Quiet.

“This is not what I thought was going to happen today,” Işık breaks the silence again, and Sinan thinks he can hear her smile.

“ _Really?_ This was my plan all along.” He hopes the sarcasm is conveyed in the dark.

“Sinan!” she admonishes, giggling and his stomach flips over, “I’m serious. I thought I was just going to have a boring birthday party like every year; not get drunk and fall into the Bosporus.” 

A weird mix guilt and panic pinches at his throat.

“I’m sorry you missed your party- and the falling-in definitely wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Oh, so the rest was?”

God she is always so quick on her feet.

“More or less.”

He can feel her shift, can feel how the mattress gives way, dips down to accommodate her lithe form.

“Even you kissing me?” Işık asks, and her voice is less than a whisper, barely a breath, but he hears her crystal-clear.

He swallows.

“Yes.”

It’s easier to be honest in the dark.

It’s silent again and **fucking hell** Sinan could really do without this weird, panicked fluttering in his chest. How has it come to this?

“Is that-“ he forces out, and all words seem to have abandoned him, left him using the vocabulary of a preschooler- or worse! A classmate with a below-average reading level. “Is that- bad?” he manages, a bit louder than he’d like.

“What? No!” Işık seems taken aback, “No, I- I was just… surprised, is all.”

“What? Why?”

Işık laughs, but it sounds awkward, a bit forced, “Oh Sinan, come on. It’s not like you didn’t give me the cold shoulder most of the time.”

The panicked fluttering has not yet left his chest, but it seems to have sunk into Sinan’s stomach, “Well… I guess, but I did that to everyone.”

“Exactly,” Işık sighs, pauses, “I only ever tried, you know? And then the whole thing with the test in class- I never thought you liked me. I would be an idiot to think that, but-” she stops abruptly, “but that made it so absolutely certain.”

Whatever has settled in his stomach has turned to tar, thick and rising rapidly, almost making him want to throw up, nipping at his throat.

“I like you,” he says, and the words burn in his mouth, “what are you talking about?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Işık huffs, worked-up now, and yes, she deserves to be angry, “I was so obvious, all the time, basically pining like in a Jane Austen novel. And then I actually more-or-less confess to you in your living room, and you sit there, solid as a stone, and try to give me back the medicine that I only brought to make you feel better.” Işık had said all of that in a bit of a rush, and when she’s finished she is a bit out of breath.

“But,” Sinan says, and his heart is definitely beating in his throat now, he can hear it clearly and his head is foggy with the revelation that Işık had been obvious? Pining? When did she confess? When he came back from the hospital? Had he not noticed? “But I told you too. At school, on the court, when you were practicing for the May 19th celebrations. I told you how I felt.”

There is a pause and then Işık mumbles something into the pillow, too muffled to understand.

“What?”

“I said, I thought you were making fun of me!” it bursts out of her, and then there’s a slap and Işık has covered her mouth with her hand.

Sinan feels like his head is spinning, “What? You thought…? That I was lying? That I would fuck you over like that?”

There’s movement and Işık is probably nodding.

“I thought,” her voice should never sound that sad, that despondent, crestfallen, utterly dejected, “I thought that you were giving me a taste of my own medicine. I was always hanging around, annoying you with my feelings, so you would show me how ridiculous the notion of you reciprocating would be.”

Sinan’s brain feels hot, thoughts bubbling, as if someone had stuck it in a deep-frier.

God, had he always been such a complete asshole? That Işık would think that? That she would assume he’d be making fun of her instead of being genuine? But the answer comes soon enough. When was the last time he had been actually genuine. Sincere. Honest. Fuck, he really had been an asshole, _what was he doing-_

“I think I’m just going to sleep on the couch,” Işık says. Fuck, her voice sounds wet, and she’s sitting up, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, moving to get up-

“Işık wait!” he manages to just grab hold of her wrist, tugs a bit to have her face him.

There is the faintest light coming in through the window, and it is just enough to illuminate Işık’s face with a soft, pale blue. Her eyes are definitely wet, brow furrowed, and she’s biting her lip.

“Please,” he says, begs actually, “please, let me explain.”

She hesitates ( _and of course she doesn’t want his explanation, who does he think he is, what sense of entitlement does he have-_ ) but then she nods, once, sits back down, and Sinan scoots himself up to sit crosslegged across from her.  
He has not let go of her wrist yet, and takes her hand in both of his. Gently stroking across her knuckles, he tries to start, tries to find the right words.

“I was a dick. Really. An asshole, a complete douchebag. No really- let me finish. I was terrible to you, Işık, and you really did not deserve that. At all. The fact that you thought that you did, that you might, is so far-off from reality- it’s insane.” Her hand is soft and Sinan keeps his eyes laser-focussed on her palm, those slender fingers, moves to take hold of her other hand. He cradles them both, palm faced upwards, and they are easy to look at; a good distraction, a good excuse to not have to look at her face.

“I don’t even know why you were always so nice to me. That shit I pulled- when you handed in your test for me-“ his mouth goes dry recalling that rage. It seems so far away now, miles and miles away from where he is now. Holding Işık’s hands in his, “I’d do anything to make it up to you. I’m not exaggerating. You deserve to…” a thought occurs to him, and it’s almost too frightening to voice, but he swallows to get rid of the lump in his throat, “You deserve to break my heart and I couldn’t be upset.”

He stops talking. And Işık slowly pulls her hands from his. He is still staring at them as they leave his field of vision, until he is only staring at his own.

God why is he such a mess?

“Sinan.” There is a hand on his cheek, small and soft, and then a second, tilting his head so that he is forced to look at her. Işık is still pale blue and ethereal, lie from a different world with both hands on his cheeks, as if they were still under the calm water of the sea.

“Sinan,” Işık says, and he will never get tired of his name in her mouth, “Don’t say that. Believe me, I don’t blame you. I’m pretty sure I did not choose the best method of telling you how I feel. And I can understand how I could have come over a bit … condescending.”

Her voice has become quieter, and what she says next is not even a whisper anymore, just a breath really, “And you don’t need to return anything just because I was upset.” She starts pulling her hand back, “It’s fine, really if you don’t feel the same way, I’m not expecting anything back.”

What?

“What?” he manages, heart pounding again but when the words were difficult to find before it is the opposite now, they tumble out of his mouth without rhyme or reason, he has to make her _understand_.

“I’m not lying! Işık what the fuck- **Işık** ,” he grabs her hand before it’s completely left his face, takes the other one again as well, for good measure, “You know I’m too big an asshole to actually pretend! Fucking hell- ” God he has to stop swearing, but the adrenaline is rushing now, “I would probably laugh at anyone else who told me they had a crush on me! I would laugh and never talk to them again.”

Somewhere in that rant Işık has started giggling, a breathless laugh, and she tries to hide her grin. God, how had he not realised he was completely head-over-heels, unbelievable.

Sinan inhales, “Işık, you make me happier than anyone in this goddamn town, fuck, the world, and I am too fucking selfish to not take complete advantage of that. I just- I,” the words are once-more well and truly stuck in his throat, “I thought, that you- that I-“ He gulps a breath, “That I had ruined everything. So. Just believe me.”

Işık leans forward a bit, shifts closer to pull her legs back onto the bed.

“I don’t think,” she says, slowly, but smiles, “that I have ever heard a confession with that many swears in it.”

Sinan is pretty sure his heart has never swelled to his size and he will need to go back to the hospital to make sure he does not have a medical condition.

“Well,” he leans forward a bit, and he can feel Işık’s breath on his lips, “I think you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

“True enough,” Işık laughs, and closes the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaahhh this is so late, but here it iiis! I've re-written this part so many times, but this is finally the end of this storyyyy  
> your comments over these past few weeks have truly been the fuuuel for my motivation, thank you all so much for your kind comments and kudos
> 
> there wiiill be a small epilogue (the scarf is still not returned, Sinan you thief!) but that's already written and will be posted soon 
> 
> hope you're all staying safe and healthy, sending you all my best


	10. Epilogue

It’s Saturday. Which means it’s laundry-day.

Sinan moves through the house, picks up dirty clothing, towels and sheets that always seem to find the weirdest hiding places. He checks his room last, drops the already half-full laundry basket on his bed and goes about pulling off the sheets, riffling through the chair in his room which always seems to collect any and all matters of clothing.

He sets the timer on the machine, waits for it to run, loads it into the drier, waits for that to run, and then grabs the warm and humid pile to hang up outside. The sun should have it dry by the evening.

It’s relaxing in a way, bowing down to pick out up a towel, or t-shirt, or sock from the basket, shaking it out to get rid of the worst of its wrinkles, and clipping it onto the clothesline. The sun is warm on his back and the light breeze is a gentle refreshment.

Sinan leans down to pick up the next scrap of fabric.

And pauses.

It’s Işık’s scarf.

He must have stuck it in the wash along with everything else from his room, grabbing it from that infamous chair. It is thankfully still just as soft, not ruined by the probably too-hot wash. He’ll have to iron it after it dries, get the wrinkles out, and then he can give it back. Slowly, Sinan raises the piece of fabric to his nose. Nope. Nothing floral left. Just clean detergent.

He is not disappointed. Just because he will give it back anyway.

He is not.

The scarf is carefully ironed and folded in a clean plastic bag when Sinan holds it out for Işık to take the next day at school.

She wrinkles her brow as she takes it from him, “What’s this?” Her fingers brush his and it is almost enough to make him blush like a school girl.

“Your scarf. Remember when you lent it to me? That night after the concert?”

Recognition blooms across Işık’s face and she laughs, eyes crinkling and she reaches out with her free hand to take his. “I had completely forgotten that you still had this?” her tone grows teasing as she squeezes his fingers, “Did it take you until now to return it?”

Sinan shrugs, already knowing he’ll regret the next honest words, “It still smelled like your shampoo- not my fault you smell like a flower-shop.”

A blush blooms on her cheeks but Sinan is sure he doesn’t look much better. He’s lucky Kerem seems to be distracted by something Eda is saying, or he’s sure there would be teasing.

“Guess I’ll have to wear it and re-lend it then,” she smiles, eyes full of mirth, and she actually winks. Sinan does not get a chance to reply before she practically skips into the school building.

And Sinan follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the eeend :)

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh so I completly binged this series three-times over, and just had to write a tiny-something! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, kudos + comments mean the woorld to me, and stay safe everyone ☀️💛🌻


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